Vietnamese Tunnels

Jack called two hours after he left and apologized on my cell phone. Then he called tonight while on his graveyard shift (I'm usually up in the wee hours -- note current post time -- so that's usually okay). We talked for a few minutes. He said he apologized to the **** group. I said yeah, I know.

OOPS.

But he didn't notice.

He called again a few hours later, in a happy springy mood at 4:37 am and I was actually asleep. But I heard the machine and he sounded so chipper (rare rare rare!) so I picked up.

Chat chat chat.

I wasn't mad anymore... I had too much of a day to be mad (and endless blog fodder), and he had apologized, right? Then he slips in "So how did you know I sent them a note?"

Oh shit. I should've lied, but too bad I made a conscious effort to try to cut more of that out... I'm sure he was thinking that someone told me somehow... well, I can at least say I hesitated! For a long few seconds.

"I read it. In your e-mail."

UGH. What's worse, doing evil and letting it lie, or doing evil and then flaunting it all over the place -- or worse, in his face?

"You can't be trusted. That's not right. You're not gonna get away with that, you can't just drop it like that."

"Well, you can't screw someone over like that without some residual effects, Jack."

(Like defensiveness and certainly a vow not to get fucked over like that again.)

"But what do you have to say for yourself?" (Hard to believe he's only two years older than me, I know.)

Short of telling him about my post here and reciting back my entire rant (a lovely lie of omission), I just dug in deeper and deeper -- oh, my Hand Analysis teacher would have a field day with all this reactivity (as opposed to authenticity)...

"You don't fuck with me, Jack. You don't mess with the "little people" who try to help you... you don't think I'm entrusted with a lot more important shit than your e-mail address? I am, and I have been... but no one screws this girl around." I grew up in an Asian family, remember?

I was gonna tell him that even when he lived in Asia for four years he could never understand or fathom the depths of the passive-aggressiveness and that way of living -- it's not like America where you go face to face and "call it like it is" and it's over. We'll look you in the face and smile, turn around and gut you from behind and when you say "how could you do that?" we'd answer, "What?" with that same plastered grin on our face as we're twisting the knife.

(Oh, okay, I'll just say ME. THIS Asian girl, not Asian people everywhere. BAH.)

Anyway, I was like the proverbial pig in mud, just celebrating how reactive, vindictive, cruel, mean and manipulative I could be. It was weird, like I was acknowledging my Entire Being, not just this goody-two shoes most of the world sees -- and seeing it from that Goody Two Shoes part of myself at the same time... Even though I do admit I'm getting better and not being all that sweet anymore -- it's only he and my mother who get my shouting and my wrath. I don't like that very much, but oddly, it feels, um... balanced? Is that the truest me there is, and the rest of the planet gets to see my mushy, water heartlines?

So at least I told him to change all his passwords. Because I didn't want to "help" him anymore.

And he proceeded to hang up on me. But not before getting out, "You disgust me. You're acting like an immature child would and I can't stand the thought of you. You won't get away with this." (Click.)

I got up. I turned the computer on. He thinks he's fighting fire with fire -- well he's so mistaken and doesn't even know what he's getting into (remember the Vietnamese tunnels?!?! and how the U.S. lost that one)... Suffice it to say, here I am, blogging away.

And I've got a bunch of fine new passwords now.